Westerosi snippets
by LeCastor
Summary: Some drabbles to experiment with various voices, one per chapter. Includes Petyr and Tyrion POV, the Sack of Winterfell, Wargs, Dolorous Edd and Renly/Loras cuteness. IN PROGRESS, PLEASE REVIEW.
1. Renly and Loras : Never So Sweet

It was on one of those unexpectedly clement summer days.

He was under the canopy of leaves. He was sitting, quietly, thoughtful for once. His usually smiling, joyful face was not marred with stern lines that would make him a Stannis, no. Renly's visage simply lacked the usual carefree aura it casted around him.

Loras stood , his rainbow cloak flicking lightly in the gentle breeze. He'd just received it. The weight of it was not even a day old on his shoulders, but it felt as if it was one he'd waited all his life to carry.

His sister had the title and the ring, but he felt that the cloak was more appropriate for a love token than any other grace Renly might bestow on sweet Margaery.

Loras remembered as he observed his King, his posture that of the perfect Kingsguard.

It was barely a year ago, and they were still, then, the knights of summer. Renly was still the king's brother and no more, and they had plotted together to get his sister to beguile Robert and finally rid him of that awful Lannister woman. Renly had no love for Cersei, and if that was how he felt, then Loras felt the same way.

They'd laughed, that day, and jokingly, Renly had said, as he nudged Loras companionably, "My brother may get the taste of one of Highgarden's sweetest fruits, so why shouldn't I?" The Knight of Flowers had felt inexplicably warm and had nudged back, not really offering, though the way he looked at Renly left little to interpretation as to which fruit he wished to see plucked.

Renly had laughed, and said, "Oh, I can see my brother already, kissing your sweet sister on the lips," he said. And Loras had chuckled, and suppressed the little shiver of displeasure at the mental image. "I wager a kiss from house Baratheon can be sweet," he replied, though it wasn't Robert he was thinking about.

There was a moment of silent understanding, and Renly reached, to kiss his cheek, lightly. "I suppose now you can decide if you won your wager or not," he murmured, close enough to tease Loras' skin with his breath. "I should think such a test would demand a rather longer trial," Loras heard himself reply, though he had not planned it in the least.

The next time Renly kissed him, it was on the lips, long, sweet and tender, but smelling of man and oozing with contained strength. Their lips parted and the kiss deepened, and the canopy of emerald-green leaves seemed to close around them, to shield them from the world, like a complacent theater to their forbidden fruit-plucking.

To Renly, nothing was sweeter than a peach from Highgarden.


	2. Robb: Last Days

When Robb stepped out of his father's solar, he felt as though he'd taken ten years of age in the hour. It was tedious, to sit with his father, with Sir Rodrick, with the bannermen. Often, the whole session lacked in interest, but he took to it sternly, did all he could to be serious in his learnings. One day, he would be Lord Robb Stark, and he had to be up to the task.

In the courtyard, he almost didn't recognize his little sister. Arya was again all muddy, a bit ruddy from all her time outside. He wandered over, looked at her, quizzically. "No hitting stable boys with sticks, today, little sister?"

She shook her head, stared at her feet. "Micah says no. He says I'm a lady." Robb smiled, a little. "Never that, right?" He nudged her, affectionately. "I have something to show you."

She grunted, refused, he insisted, stubbornly, until she caved in and found herself trudging her feet behind an older brother. There was a swing. There was a stream that died into a lake. There was sunlight. "Did you ever jump into the lake from the swing?"

Arya shook her head, grumbled something about how swings were stupid, and Robb knew it was mostly because swings were Sansa's thing. "Sansa would _never_ go down in the water, though," he said, insisting again, gently.

When Arya went down into the lake with a splash, Robb worried, took off his boots and shirt, ready go go fetch her.

When she came up, bubbling and laughing, he grinned and dove in to dunk her. These were the last days of summer, Robb knew, somewhere deep down. If for once he played hookie --- but he wouldn't. He would return on time for the next council, he knew. But in the meantime...

In the meantime, he knew it was wise to make the best of the lat days of summer.


	3. Petyr and Eddard : The Smug Bastard

The deal was done. He'd told Eddard Stark one thing and Janos Slynt another. As he walked back to his room from another one of Lady Tanda's dinner, Petyr Baelish reflected on what he had done. Was it right to betray Cat's husband to a certain death? It had to be, he decided. He was not Cat, but Brandon's brother, who had humiliated him, so long ago. He was nothing to him, and dead, he would be nothing to her either.

Maybe then. Besides, he'd told the Hand not to trust him. He had made as much clear, enough times for it to be a boring affair. There was a smug pleasure in it, though, and that, Littlefinger did not tire much of. He liked that people believed him when he lied and didn't when he told the truth. It made him feel both tall and brilliant.

Now, the girl Sansa, that was another affair. She had too much of the Tully beauty for him to ignore her, and was too close to the foster sister he'd wanted hard and fast. Her, her, he would protect – perhaps he would even wed her, once she had her flowering, if he could weasel her out of the brat king's hold. Now, wouldn't that be glorious? But it wasn't advantageous enough.

It didn't pay enough, and besides, it was Cat he wanted. Stupid Stark, though, he mused.

A dog can smell a lie. A wolf clearly cannot.


	4. Joffrey and Sandor : Yes, Your Grace

"I want her to love me again," Joffrey whined, again, and for half a moment, he looked like a child. Sandor didn't look at the boy-king. He only pretended to listen, and waited for it to be done with.

"Tomorrow, you will make Sansa love me," Joffrey said, a direct order that didn't bear contestation. After all, what's a Dog to do?

"Yes, Your Grace." He didn't bother with asking how – the vaguer the instruction, the better. _Sounds like a personal problem to me,_ he thought bitterly.

Later, he spoke to her again, privately. He would, as often as necessary.


	5. Arya : SheWolf

She was running. Those were not the crummy yards of Harrenhall, not the clean, stern and stony spaces of Winterfell. It was the forest. It was the way to her own promontory. Her own throne of stone and earth. She ran, and it was liberating to have her nostrils fill with the scent of pine trees, to feel little pine needles and dry leaves under her bare feet. She sat on her hunches and looked over the sprawling landscape below her.

A brother called, then another, then a sister. She howled back in response, at the moon, the trees and the glorious darkness that was her friend. They came, then, slinking out of the shadows, to sit in a circle and howl with her, a terrifying, chilling chorus of predatory voices calling at the moon. Tomorrow, they went to war.

The girl slept fitfully in her cot, and awoke suddenly. There were people talking in the neighboring hall, and she stood, readying herself hurriedly.

"Those damned wolves had another of our men, today," the voice was saying. "Feels like they're even picking their targets, now."

Something prickled at the back of her neck, and then Arya knew. The man was a Lannister.


	6. Bran : Silent Watchers

The bird was perched atop a chimney, sedately. Below humans yelled, sparred, screamed and died. Overhead, the sky was impassible. There was blood running in the gutters of Winterfell. There were beasts howling. There was steel clashing against steel and plundering everywhere.

Then, fire. The noise had not disturbed the crow over much, where he sat atop the tower. There was a time where the human boy came, at times, to sit there and contemplate. Those were peaceful times, the bird mused, and those times seemed to be coming to an end. The crows had not cared when the boy had stopped coming and the wolves had howled. The crows had not cared when the host had left the keep on a cold morning, led by the boy's brother. The birds cared little what new creative ways of dying the humans came up with.

But then, fire came. Fire and smoke, and heat came and there was not a place where one could nest or rest undisturbed. The coven of winged witnesses stirred for the first time since the turmoil had began. One by one, wings spread, clutches fletched in impetus and one by one, the birds took flight towards a new home. Perhaps the wildlings in the North would be more reasonable. Perhaps it was time to see if the Dornish knew how to behave.

Really, those inconvenient humans had gone too far.

They were sick of those shenanigans.


	7. Sansa: Dreams of Summer

"Come now, Lady," Sansa called, "we don't want to be late for dinner," Sansa told her sweet direwolf bitch as she stood in the doorway. Lady followed, dainty despite her size, despite her hairy body and the fact that she was a wolf.

Those were the last days of summer, the wolf knew, and she followed her mistress obediently. At Sansa's feet, under the table, Lady put her nose between her paws and looked at her brothers and her sister. They were all different but they were her blood also, just like her girl was apart from her brood but with them at the same time.

Under the table, her sister nipped at her, playfully, and Lady moved away, because now was not the time to disturb their humans.

Soon, the meal was over, and Lady followed her girl away from the crowd. There was a conversation between her and her father, the big man who didn't trust the wolves, though he was always gentle to Lady. Though they were in other rooms, the scent of her siblings was about, and Lady felt at peace.

And then Sansa woke up, and the dream was over. Sometimes she had them, dreams in which she stalked more than she glided in the halls of stone. Often, after the dreams, she cried for hours, for the family she had lost and the illusions she saw shattered, like a million shards of glass.

At her window, she allowed herself to dream.

What if Margaery and Lady Olenna kept their word? What if she could go to Highgarden, perhaps wed Lord Tyrell's heir? At least she would be safe from beatings, and at least she would see Ser Loras, sometimes.

When she closed her eyes she saw herself walking in the midst of greenland, under garlands of flowers, in the sweet smell of southern flora. She opened a shade, then, and her lord husband limped by her, but he was gentle, though she did not know him.

But then she opened her eyes, found King's Landing again, and bade goodbye to her dreams of summer.


	8. Dolorous Edd : I Never Win Anything

Once again, they drew straws. Once again, he got the short one.

"Oh, lucky me, get to spend a night freezing my buttocks off up on the wall," Dolorous Edd muttered as he left, shaking his head.

It was a freezing winter morning, and his body was aching as he went up to the Wall. Up there, another man was pacing. Edd nudged him brusquely. "They're waiting for you. Go on, boy." The boy went, scowling.

The charge came. He was the last man standing, just like he said he would be. Just this once, he would have preferred loosing.


End file.
